The Bitter Price Of Love

It showed her what it had always shown her, but now there was added glamour. She had always been a tall, curvaceous brunette, but the right training and makeup had revealed a new Reba, whose beauty was both striking and exotic. It was her eyes which had taken her out of the common mould: large golden cat’s-eyes, rimmed with long dark lashes, which gave her a felinely hungry look and added a sensual quality to her mouth.

It was the face and figure of a top model, but she hadn’t considered it as a career option until, on leaving university, disaster had struck her family. Her mother had developed a crippling disease which had only one possibility of a cure—a pioneering operation in the United States. The trouble was that it was astronomically expensive, and the family, minus a father who had died when Reba was still quite young, couldn’t afford it.

Not, that was, until a friend, who was in the business, had suggested that she could make a fortune as a model. Reba hadn’t even bothered to have a second thought and, with the help of her friend, had entered the world of modelling. In the beginning it had been an uphill struggle, with every penny she could spare being put in the bank to set against their expenses. Through sheer hard work she had fought her way towards the top, never refusing anything which would bring in money. But it had been so slow, and it was only now, two years later, that she was beginning to travel the world, commanding huge sums for a single session.

It had been time they could ill afford, and it was going to be tight getting the money for the operation before it was too late. Unless…Suddenly she knew why she was feeling so edgy. Eliot’s proposal. It occurred to her that if she accepted him, then it would certainly help her family out. But that was no basis for marriage! It wouldn’t be fair. To either of them.

Eliot said he loved her, but she had never pretended she loved him. She liked him very much, and felt they were good friends. His kisses were pleasant and his caresses tender, but there was no spark for her. She was twenty three years old, and she had always thought she would never marry anyone unless there was that certain something between them. It wasn’t ridiculous to want the heights, only natural. She was certain that Mr Right was out there somewhere, waiting around a corner she had yet to turn.

But, while she was waiting for Mr Right, her mother was slowly but surely dying—and the price of the operation was going up, her conscience now reminded her. And here was Eliot, wanting to marry her. She knew they could very possibly have a happy, if unexciting, marriage. Surely she should consider it—for her mother’s sake?

Sinking down on to the stool, she began cleaning off her make-up, knowing that there was no question of it. She must take it seriously though, and, however mercenary it sounded, she couldn’t afford to rule out any option. Yet it wasn’t going to be an easy decision to make, and she was glad she had some time in which to do it.

A week later, Reba gathered together her survival kit ready for the day’s filming ahead of them, knowing she was no nearer a solution. In fact, to be honest, she knew she had been putting the moment of decision off. She had told herself she was too busy, too tired, too…Any one of a number of excuses. Now, today, glancing at her watch, she told herself it was too late to think about it.

Leaving her room in the luxury hotel which the agency had booked for them, she hurried down to the lobby where the rest of the crew would be waiting. Contrary to some people’s expectations, she didn’t go around dressed like a fashion-plate all the time. Today she was in cut-off shorts and a baggy Hawaiian shirt. Costume and make-up would be discussed when they reached the location.

So far she, and the other three models, had only been shot in evening-wear, but now they were moving into beach and leisurewear, and the director had decided they needed to be on a yacht for the purpose. Reba didn’t mind. She loved the water and boats, although there hadn’t been much time for sailing recently. Plus it would be cooler at sea. She wasn’t fully acclimatised to the Caribbean heat, and sometimes found it enervating.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she apologised, finding she was the last to arrive.

One of her fellow models, a Nordic blonde called Magda, who always appeared immaculately turned out, looked down her nose. ‘If you get a reputation for being late, nobody is going to employ you!’

‘You wish!’ grinned Linda, the make-up girl, and as Magda turned away with a sniff she rolled her eyes at Reba. ‘Take no notice of her, she’s just jealous. You’ve got further quicker than she did. Plus you’re going places, and she isn’t. Don’t let it upset you. You’re going to get a lot more of the same.’

Reba smiled back gratefully. She wasn’t the bitchy sort you sometimes needed to be to get on in this profession. She always tried to make friends with everyone, although Magda made that hard. ‘I’ll try not to, but this weather doesn’t help me keep my cool. It’s so hot already.’

‘I heard one of the waiters saying it probably means there’s going to be a storm. I’m just praying it won’t come while we’re at sea,’ Linda groaned, then came to attention as Maurice, the director, clapped his hands loudly.

‘OK, everyone, transport’s here. Let’s get going.’

They were ushered out to a minibus which took them from the hotel’s exclusive setting to the island’s main town, where the marina was situated. Reba slung her bag over her shoulder and breathed in the scent of the sea. Shading her eyes with her hands, she gazed along the lines of glittering craft of all shapes and sizes, and knew a longing to be skimming along the crystal waters, all her cares forgotten.

Maurice herded them along the main pier, then on to one of the branches. It soon became obvious that they were heading for a large white yacht where a man could be seen busily coiling rope. He glanced up as he heard them approaching, stretching to his full height, and Reba found her steps slowing, so that she was at the back of the group. She heard Maurice speaking, but it seemed to come from a great distance as she stared at the stranger.

He was tall, fair and tanned, but that wasn’t what brought the sensitive hairs all over her body to attention. He was pure male power, barely leashed. His blond hair was untamed, his blue eyes wild and compelling. He took the word handsome to the edge—and beyond. His clothes were clean but well-worn, the white vest clinging to every muscled inch of his chest, down to where the low-slung denims took over, their faded cloth straining at long powerful legs and the tears at the knees only adding to his incredible presence. He exuded a potency she had never encountered before. It called to her, and she responded on a primitive level.

As if becoming aware of her gaze, his head turned, searching, and her golden eyes met and locked on to a pair of deep blue ones. All the air seemed to leave her body in a rush. She thought, I know this man. He’s no stranger. I seem to have known him forever. It was the weirdest thing, and, what was more uncanny, he seemed to sense it too, for he went quite still. Without a word a message was sent and answered, and the world changed.

Maurice had been talking to the man, but he faltered when he realised he wasn’t being heard, and turned to find what had caught the other man’s attention. Reba was oblivious to more than one head turning, and only jolted out of the trance she appeared to be in when someone sniggered. Realising she was now the focus of everyone’s attention, a hot tide of embarrassment coloured her cheeks. Her heart was thumping fit to burst, and she glanced down quickly at her feet, trying to regain her composure. What on earth had just happened?

‘How sweet,’ Magda drawled snidely. ‘I do believe Reba has just fallen in love with the deck-hand!’

A jolt of shock ran through Reba at those words. Fallen in love? But she couldn’t have! Could she? Yet what else could explain this strange excitement inside her? The fizzing of her blood which made her feel more alive than she had ever been in her life?

Was this love?

‘You’d better snap out of it, Reba. Maurice looks like he’s going to throw a fit,’ Linda hissed in her ear, and Reba started, realising that they were the only two still left on the jetty. Everyone else was waiting on board, showing various degrees of impatience.

‘Sorry,’ Reba apologised, commanding her legs to move her forwards. She could feel eyes on her, but only one pair counted. A hand appeared to help her aboard, and she took it automatically, gasping as a frisson of electricity shot up her arm, and once more she met those incredible eyes.

‘Welcome aboard,’ he said easily, but there was a husky note to it, as if he had had trouble forcing the words out.

All her composure seemed to leave her in a flash. Her smile was wobbly, and her eyes questioned his, receiving an almost solar flare of emotion in return. Exhilarated and afraid all at once, she pulled free. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered, moving away, although it seemed incredibly hard to do.

‘Hi, I’m Linda,’ she heard the other girl say from behind her. ‘In case you’re interested, her name’s Reba.’

The man’s laugh was throaty and appreciative, and turned Reba’s stomach into knots. ‘Thanks, Linda. Hunter Jamieson.’

Hunter. She liked the sound of that. It suited him. Hunter…She daydreamed, and, for once in her life, the preparations for setting sail failed to hold her attention. In fact the whole day’s shooting became something of a dream. The man called Hunter never spoke to her, nor she to him, but she was vitally aware of his presence moving around the boat. It was as if she had suddenly become attuned to his frequency, and she didn’t have to look at him to know where he was.

She couldn’t concentrate properly, but must have done all that was expected of her because Maurice didn’t throw a tantrum. Yet it was hard to look at the camera when her eyes constantly wanted to stray. When they did, they clashed with blue ones intent on the same thing.

At the end of the day it was hard to leave the yacht, for it felt as if she were leaving part of herself behind. She had never felt this way before, and when she looked in the mirror in the privacy of her hotel room she found her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glittering. She saw a creature she no longer recognised. Every feature was the same, and yet not the same.

Of course it was impossible to sit still, and she went through the motions of preparing for dinner. She showered and washed her hair, slipping into a full-skirted, halter-necked sundress and comfortable espadrilles. However, she didn’t go down to the restaurant. Her stomach was churning too much for food. Something was calling to her, something stronger than any other need. As the sun began to set, she grabbed up her purse and a thin shawl and left, obeying an instinct as old as time itself.

The harbour was still alive with people, but as she made her way through the marina she met fewer and fewer. Most were out enjoying themselves, probably having dinner, and for a moment her heart failed her as she realised Hunter might not be on the yacht. Yet she need not have worried, for as she approached the boat she saw that there was light in the cabin, and as she came alongside he appeared on deck. Without a word he held out a hand, and she put hers into it and allowed him to help her aboard.

There was a moment when they simply gazed at each other, then Hunter smiled, and used his free hand to brush away a strand of hair which the impish breeze had blown across her face.

‘I knew you’d come,’ he said softly, yet with a certainty she couldn’t question.

‘Yes,’ she breathed, unable to deny it. Her eyes drank him in. Incredible to think they had only met hours ago, and yet it felt as if she had never belonged anywhere else. This evening he had changed into white chinos and a short-sleeved shirt, but they didn’t disguise the powerful body beneath.

He didn’t seem to mind her looking, nor did he release her hand. He studied her face as if he was imprinting it forever in his memory. ‘You have amazing eyes.’

‘So do you,’ she returned inanely, and flushed when he laughed. Yet there was no unkindness in it, more a release from the same tension that gripped her.

‘You don’t act like a model.’

Reba smiled up at him. ‘That’s what I do, not who I am.’

A strange light flickered at the back of his eyes. ‘And who are you, Reba?’

‘Just a woman,’ she told him simply, and watched fascinated as his mouth curved seductively as he smiled.

‘Oh, I’ll most definitely agree with that. You’re very much a woman,’ Hunter concurred huskily. ‘Have you eaten?’

The prosaic question made her realise that now she was quite incredibly hungry. ‘No.’

His fingers tightened on hers. ‘Good. I hope you like fish.’

Belatedly she became aware that behind him a table had been set for two, and from down below came the mouth-watering aroma of cooking. ‘I love it.’

Hunter dragged a hand through his hair, lips curving. ‘Somehow I knew you would,’ he said oddly, shaking his head before smiling again. ‘Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a moment.’

Reba caught her breath. So he felt it too, this knowing. ‘Do you need any help?’